Free from the Past
by thedreamsicle
Summary: The notorious outlaw Robin Hood stumbles across a young man named Adrian who has secrets of his own. Will each learn the other's truth? Together, they strive to fight injustice and create their own reality. This must-read is a romantic adventure that will keep you guessing! I update with new chapters as soon as I can write them. Reviews appreciated! Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

From my hideout in the trees, I am free. I can see everything, perched here above the world. The wind whips through my brown hair and stings my eyes, but the gentle heat of the sun melts into my dark clothes. Like startling awake from a light sleep, my reverie is broken by the snapping of branches far below.

Peering down, I see a boy, no older than eighteen, striding through the woods. He is making quite a ruckus while he's at it. Smirking at the boy's carelessness, I fasten my cloak around my neck and pull up my hood, hiding my face. I think I have found something to do this afternoon.

I slowly scale down the tree, gracefully slipping from branch to branch, not making a sound. I lithely drop no more than a few feet behind the boy and raise my bow. As I softly push the arrow's flint tip into his back, the boy stiffens with a jerk.

For a few moments, silence surrounds us, save for the shaky breaths leaving his mouth.

"It seems I have you at a disadvantage," I taunt. "Perhaps if you did not stumble so, breaking every branch in sight, you would keep yourself out of danger. Although, from the looks of it, even if you did keep quiet, you could probably do nothing to defend yourself. You obviously carry no sword, though perhaps you have a dagger. Little good that could do against a raging bear or a band of rogues, though."

"Do not underestimate me so, sir. I am not stupid enough to traverse the woods with nothing to protect myself. As it turns out, I do have a dagger, and extensive training with which to wield it. So I think you'll agree that it would be most unwise to challenge me in this respect." His soft voice trembles, contradicting his audacious speech.

"Tough words coming from someone I could pierce at a moment's notice," I observe.

"But you won't," he assures me.

"And how do you come to that conclusion?" I question, amused.

"Simply from your tone, sir. You speak with a most unbecoming arrogance and smugness, if I'm not mistaken. I believe you consider this some sort of game. And I sincerely doubt that you would end my life without gleaning as much enjoyment from it as possible. So I challenge you. Lower your weapon, and allow us to battle face to face."

My lips curve into a slow smile at his nerve, and I stand quietly for a moment, considering his proposition. He is very insightful, gaining much from my tone alone. It is true, after all, that this is the most fun I've had in a while. Although I know it would only be too easy to defeat him in any sort of challenge, I decide to take him up on his offer.

I trail the arrow's head down his spine until it points to the ground, and take a step back. Slowly, he turns and faces me, and for a moment, I am rooted to the ground in surprise. Simply put, his face is striking. He has high cheekbones and a straight nose, and his full lips are slightly open, shallow breaths betraying his fear. He is flushed, perhaps from exertion, and waves of his dark blonde hair hang over a smooth forehead and slight shoulders. His most captivating feature, however, are his crystal blue eyes, burning with determination. After a moment of drinking in his features, I mentally size up my opponent. He is some inches shorter than I am and weighs much less, his baggy clothes only highlighting this difference. Remembering myself, I smirk and speak to him.

"It certainly would be a shame to mark up a pretty face such as yours. Admit your impending defeat, and I will let you continue on your way unharmed."

He narrows his eyes at my words and reaches into his satchel.

"How very kind you must think yourself with an offer like that," he replies with scorn. "However, I will do no such thing. I may not look much, but I will defend myself."

"So you would rather die than suffer a blow to your pride?" Laughing, I sheath my arrow.

The boy says nothing but draws a dagger from his satchel and shakily points it towards me, seemingly posing for battle.

I do nothing but smile at his boldness. He is brave, I will give him that.

"Well?" he questions. "Will you not draw your dagger?"

"No," I sigh. "I prefer to use no weapon. It will be easy enough." I grin wickedly beneath my cloak.

Eyes only slightly widening at the bravado of my words, he charges me with the dagger, and I easily step to the side. Stopping short and whipping around to face me once more, he quickly lunges. I bend backwards to escape his attack, and push his arm away. Straightening up, I yawn loudly.

This is too easy. For all his big talk, this boy really has no skill whatsoever. However, he continues to fight, this time swiping weakly at me. I quickly jump out of the dagger's path and he is thrown off-balance, so I give a quick shove to his back and he is sent sprawling to the ground on his stomach, dagger skittering into the bushes. Panting from exertion and fear, he awkwardly flips over and struggles to gain his feet, but I press my foot onto his chest, keeping him pinned to the ground. He squirms and struggles with everything he has, sapping his remaining strength. Soon, he lies still, and I detect a trace of fear in his eyes.

After a moment, I cannot help but let out a short laugh as I cross my arms.

"I think this has been the shortest fight of my life. Really, I believe I could even fight you blindfolded with no struggle."

He scowls at my words, though his lower lip begins to tremble.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it already. It is the noble thing to give me a quick death," he gasps.

My smile slips away at his obvious distress.

"Why should I kill you?" I question. "You obviously pose no threat, not even to a gnat. It would be most dishonorable to kill someone as defenseless as you are."

I lift my foot off his chest, and he lays there, uncertainty clear on his face.

"So you'll let me go?" he questions as he sits up slowly.

I ponder for a moment. He really put up a pathetic fight, though it was most entertaining. As I look at him, I stumble across an idea.

"I will spare your life, but not without a price. For a while now, I have been in need of a servant and I believe you meet my requirements. You are of no danger to me, and are too slight to be of much service in any other position. Yes, the more I think of this, the better it sounds."

"A-a servant?" he stutters, looking incredulous.

"Servant, pageboy, whatever title you prefer. You will accompany me on my travels, wash my clothes, make my meals, gather firewood- whatever I ask of you, really," I smirk, satisfied with my proposition.

For a moment, he looks outraged. "I think you mean slave! I refuse your offer, thank you very much. I am really very busy, and I would appreciate it if you let me on my way!"

Given his predicament, I am somewhat surprised by his vehement refusal. As he starts to rise, I keep him down once more with my foot, and slowly begin to raise my bow. Immediately, uncertainty returns to his face as his eyes shoot to my sling of arrows.

"Wait!" he calls out, as I reach back to my quiver. "I give! I-I'll be your servant. Just please lower your weapon," he pleads breathlessly.

Slowly smiling while replacing my arrow to it's sling, I offer him a hand.

"Glad we have reached an agreement," I respond smugly as I pull him to his feet.

Dusting himself off, he looks at me cautiously, as if unsure of what I'll do next. I grab his satchel, and he grips it, knuckles turning white.

"W-wait, this is my bag! You can't just grab it from me, that's common thievery!" he huffs.

"Actually," I growl, "I can. Being my servant, what was once yours now belongs to me. So, I'll be taking _my_ satchel now." With minimal force, I tug the bag from his hands and open the flap.

Digging through, I find a loaf of bread and some cheese wrapped up, a few gold coins, a needle and thread, a small flask of water, and a hairbrush. I pocket the gold and examine the hairbrush. It's silver, with engravings on the back and fine white bristles. I gaze at him beneath my hood, wondering where he obtained such treasure, and, to my surprise, he blushes. Shrugging, I toss his satchel back to him.

"Well, boy," I address him. "You appear to be not much older than seventeen or eighteen. Am I correct in my estimation?"

"Y-yes," he stutters. "I have seen eighteen years."

"And your name?" I question. "If you're going to serve me, I have to call you something."

"My name is Adrian," he says, diverting his eyes.

I know he is lying, but decide to question him later. I stoop to pick up his dagger from the bushes.

"And w-what shall I call you, sir?" he questions.

"Do you always stutter, or are you simply nervous?" I ask, annoyed.

He blushes again but doesn't answer. I sigh and return to standing as I pocket his dagger.

Realizing the notoriety of my real name, I decide to conceal my identity. "You can call me Beck."

He keeps his eyes down but nods quickly. Peering up to the sky, I notice the sun has sunk considerably during our encounter. Adjusting my quiver, I move forward, searching for a clearing. We need to set up camp, and soon.


	2. Chapter 2

While we're searching the woods for a suitable clearing to make camp, the air chills slightly as the sun gradually sets. Although I can hear Adrian trudging from a mile away, I look behind me occasionally to check his progress. My long stride has gotten me far ahead of him, and I pause to let him catch up. As Adrian nears me, I can hear his heavy panting and see the exhaustion settling in. It's not surprising, as we've been walking now for over two hours, and Adrian's slight frame shows me he has hardly any muscle to rely upon. I strike up conversation to make the trek easier.

"So, Adrian, what's your story?" I ask. "What has brought you to the depths of Sherwood Forest?"

Adrian quickly glances at me before answering. "I was traveling to a village close by, looking for work."

"I see. What village do you come from?" I question.

"Oh, I hail from a small farm north of Nottingham," Adrian replies. "It's quite out of the way, really. Very obscure. I doubt you've heard of it."

"Actually, I'm very familiar with Nottingham and the surrounding-" I'm cut off when Adrian suddenly trips over a root. Reaching out, I steady him. When my hand grazes his, a jolt travels up my arm, and I quickly withdraw with a jerk. I peer over at Adrian and see that he looks as surprised as I feel. I suppose he noticed the charge between us as well. Uncomfortable with what just happened, I clear my throat and surge ahead. I try to think of other things but my mind keeps returning to it. What happened back there? I look at my hand. Usually nothing gets to me, but this strange electricity has rattled my thoughts. Shaking my head, I focus on my surroundings and finally spot a suitable clearing a short distance away.

Reaching our campsite for the night, I drop my stuff on the ground and start to gather twigs for a fire. Adrian is so worn out that he collapses on the nearest boulder as soon as he reaches the clearing, flushed and panting. I light a fire to ward off the cold seeping through my clothes. As soon as the twigs are smoldering, I grab my bow and arrows and make record time of finding and killing a rabbit in the surrounding woods. Upon my return, Adrian seems to have recovered somewhat and I begin to skin our dinner.

Adrian can hardly keep his eyes open as he eats, and he finally succumbs to sleep as the moon shines in the night sky. I watch him for a moment. In sleep, he looks so peaceful, and the lines of worry on his brow smooth out. There's something different about this boy. He's just so... pretty. I catch myself staring and quickly move to the other side of the clearing. I really must keep my composure.

Usually, I sleep in the trees and have no fear of ambush, but, on the ground, I decide to keep watch. I sharpen my arrowheads to pass the time, but, as the minutes pass, I find myself nodding off like Adrian. Before I know it, I wake to a loud snap. Jumping up, I grab a dagger while my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness.

I slowly turn in a circle, scanning the inky blackness. My eyes don't miss a thing, and I spot a dark figure crouching behind a nearby tree. Raising my dagger, I take aim, hurling the weapon. It lands true, and, with a yelp, the figure rises and stumbles. Chaos breaks loose as other dark figures emerge from the undergrowth, brandishing swords with long silver blades that flash in the moonlight. I reach behind me and fumble for my sword, and though I am better with a bow and arrow, it is the only option in the moment. Swinging it around in barely enough time, it clashes with that of an enemy. I make quick work of him and swing around to the next figure, all the while trying to get a glimpse of Adrian. Perhaps he has been wise and has hidden at the commencement of the fight, but it would be foolish to believe that an enemy has not spotted him. Slashing through what appears to be the last figure before me, I finally whip around towards the other side of the clearing, only to see someone taking a swipe at Adrian, who appears to be cowering on the ground. With a yell, I hurl my sword through the air and it embeds itself into the figure's side. Dropping his weapon, the enemy slinks to the ground, my blow proving to be fatal. For a moment all I can do is breathe deeply to steady my racing heart. This late-night battle has given me a surge of adrenaline, and I struggle to tame my anxiety. A few minutes later, I am finally composed, and make my way over to Adrian.

The nearer I get to him, the louder his gasping becomes, and with each of his painful inhalations, a pit of dread grows larger in my stomach. I can only hope that he has not been mortally wounded in the skirmish. Reaching his side, I kneel down and gently turn him towards me and pat his clothes. There is a wet spot near his right ribcage, and a tear in the fabric. My worst fears confirmed, it appears he has been struck. Picking up his slight body, I move Adrian to a spot of the clearing that is bathed in moonlight in order to see what I am dealing with. Though blood covers his front, the flow thankfully seems to have lessened in the past moments. The wound must not be too deep. Slowly, I untuck his tunic as gently as possible and begin to shimmy it up his chest. I am halfway finished when a cold, clammy hand shoots up and grips my forearm. For someone so slight, Adrian's grip is surprisingly strong. I cease tugging on his clothes, afraid the movement of the fabric against his wound may have hurt him. I look towards his pale face and into his eyes that are glazed with pain and what appears to be fear.

"Please," he whispers raggedly, "don't go any further."

I look at him with concern. "Adrian, I must see how deep the wound is. I know this is unpleasant but your shirt is almost off so the pain won't last very long."

I slowly take hold of the fabric once more, but Adrian accosts me again.

"Wait Beck! No. I- I..." he croaks.

"What is it, Adrian?"

"Just let me look at it. It doesn't feel very deep anyway. Please let me take care of it," he pleads quietly.

I look at him for a moment. Confused but nevertheless respectful of his wishes, I draw my hands back and watch as he struggles to sit up. Before he even makes it a few inches off the ground, he gasps and his face screws up in pain.

"That's it, this is ridiculous. I'm looking whether you like it or not," I inform him as I gentle him back down.

Seemingly resigned to what's about to happen, Adrian closes his eyes, but not before I can spot a hint of dread in their depths. Why is he so against me tending to his wound? Before he can protest any further, I slide his shirt the rest of the way up, bunching it under his neck. As my eyes adjust to the sight of his chest in the darkness, I pause. He is slighter than I thought, with no muscle whatsoever. In fact, I almost make out soft curves in the darkness. As my eyes continue up his torso, I notice a white strip of fabric secured tightly over his chest. Confused, I look up at Adrian's face and see him peeking at me from the corner of his eye.

"What's this?" I question, lightly tracing the fabric.

"I-I am...I-I mean I was..." he stutters.

I stare at him and see a fierce blush gather in his face.

"I had to get away, I just had to!" he bursts out suddenly. "And this was the only way!" In his agitation, his voice has risen a few octaves and I'm startled by it's feminine tones. Before I can make sense of his words, I am struck over the head with the truth, and the more I ponder this possibility, the more sense it makes. In fact, I can't believe I didn't piece this together before. It's too obvious.

"You're a girl," I state dumbly.

"...yes." She looks down, her blush spreading from her cheeks to her forehead.

Looking at her torso, understanding dawns upon me. I realize the white fabric has flattened her chest, adding the finishing touch on her male disguise. It's my turn to blush as I notice I have been staring at and touching a half-naked woman. I quickly move my eyes to her face only to see her watching me, waiting for my reaction to this news. I give her a small smile of reassurance and remember why I lifted her shirt in the first place. I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts, then speak.

"Of course I have many questions that demand answers, but for now I must ascertain the severity of your wound," I tell her. "Is it alright for me to touch you here?" I point towards her stomach.

She nods slowly and braces herself for the pain. My eyes shift to the sliced skin on her torso. I can see that it is a small wound, probably only caused by a grazing of a dagger. Standing quickly, I grab my her satchel and fish out the water flask. As I slowly pour water over the abrasion, she winces but allows me to continue. Once the wound is clean, I search through her bag for something to wrap it up with. Unfortunately she has no spare clothes or bandages, and I know I have nothing of the sort in my rucksack. Pondering what to do, I remember the cloth wrapped around her chest.

"Hey," I gently touch her shoulder to get her attention. "I don't mean to trouble you, but we don't have any bandages or spare cloth, except for the fabric tied around your chest."

Her eyes widen slightly at my speech, and she blushes again.

I look at her sympathetically. "I really think that is the only option. I promise I won't look while I'm untying it, and then I'll bandage your wound up as quick as possible," I say quietly.

Still flushing, she nods and looks away in embarrassment as I slowly begin to unfasten the cloth. As promised, I close my eyes as the fabric loosens, and I slowly start to pull it free. In the process of blindly gathering the material, my hand grazes her soft flesh. I quickly jerk back at her gasp, and a shiver runs down my spine. The contact of our skin has created that same electricity running up my arm. Fabric in hand, I peel open my eyes to dress the wound, and notice the gooseflesh covering her stomach. I can't help but smirk as I tighten the cloth over the cut. It appears she is just as affected by the feel of my skin as I am hers. Finished with the task at hand, I quickly but gently pull down her shirt and look at her face. It seems some of her pain has eased, though she now looks slightly nervous. I get lost staring at her. How could I not have known that she was a girl this whole time? I gaze at her full lips and the dark blonde lashes that spread over the tops of her cheeks. Flicking my eyes up to hers, I smile sheepishly as I realize I've been caught ogling her. She attempts a small smile back, but the nerves are still etched on her face. She must be apprehensive about what will happen next. With a sigh I get to my knees and carefully slide my arms under her body. Picking her up, I carry her closer to the fire and set her down gently. Reaching for my rucksack, I bunch it up into a makeshift pillow and place it behind her head.

"Thank you, Beck," she whispers gratefully, meeting my eyes.

I nod quickly and notice her teeth slightly chattering. I prod the fire for a moment, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. Satisfied with the blaze, I settle down next to her and look into her blue eyes, ready for answers.

"So," I begin with determination, "let's talk."


	3. Chapter 3

She remains quiet, her eyes slowly drifting to the flames. A few moments pass before she finally looks back at me.

"I don't really know where to start." she says.

"Your real name would be a good place," I suggest. "And no lies this time."

She flushes slightly but answers. "My real name is Marian."

I nod and smile at her. "Marian suits you. In fact, it's almost as pretty as you are."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not as if I haven't heard that one before," she laughs.

I hold my hands up in resignation. "Hey, you never know. I had to give it a shot," I laugh back. "But really, you are quite beautiful. I can't believe I didn't know you were a woman right away."

She looks down, slightly embarrassed. "Thank you. Normally, people will just accept what you tell them without question, too preoccupied to search deeper. That's what I was betting on, at least."

"Well, I suppose you had me fooled, but only momentarily," I tell her. "I did think you were very slight for a man, and far too pretty."

As I pause, she is quiet, and another question pops into my head. "Did you disguise your true age as well?"

She shakes her head. "That I didn't have to cover up. I really am eighteen years old."

I nod and recall what she had said moments before. "Remember a few moments ago when I was looking at your wound?" I ask, and she nods.

"Well, when I found the cloth covering your chest, you said that you had to get away or something, and that this was the only way. What did you mean by that? Are you...running from something?" I suggest.

During my question, her expression has grown serious. "It's true that I am running from something, _someone_ , to be exact."

She pauses and looks into the fire again. After a moment, she glances back at me and gives a small smile at my exasperated expression.

"Is that really all you're going to say?" I question. "I realize that this is personal territory, but I promise I'm not a threat to you. You can tell me the truth. Maybe I could even help you."

She thinks for a moment and then continues hesitantly. "It is a somewhat long story, but I suppose we have time."

Marian sits up a bit and continues. "My father Damon was a great man. He grew up on a farm in Carlton, and because of his skills as an amateur swordsman, he was chosen to be the pageboy for an older knight. He travelled with this knight until his early twenties, at which point he joined the forces of Richard the Lionheart. During the revolts against King Henry II, my father fought loyally alongside Richard at Aquitaine, where he met and married my mother, Isabeau. Upon their victorious return to England, my father was knighted, Sir Bruin of Carlton. Regretfully, I never knew my mother- she died giving birth to me, so my father raised me with the help of my maids. He and Richard remained good friends, and we often spent our days at the castle. Unfortunately, my father caught ill and died when I was only eleven. I loved him very much, and it is still hard to talk about him."

She stops ands swallows thickly but continues. "Luckily, I was close to the royal family because of the camaraderie between Richard and my father. I took up full residence at the castle, and became somewhat of a daughter to Richard. A few years later, King Henry died and, as you know, Richard ascended the throne, making me part of the king's ward."

I tense at this information. It dawns upon me that only hours ago I threatened and forcibly indentured this girl, and she is ward of the King of England! To be fair, she was in disguise. Also, I remember that I did save her life in this skirmish with the rogues, and I hope that is penance enough for my earlier actions. Unaware of my internal conversation, Marian continues her story.

"Richard was a very good man, and, during the rare times he was in Nottingham, he cared for me like a father would."

She pauses with distant expression on her face, as if she is recalling good memories.

A log in the fire suddenly drops, and she snaps out of it, she continuing to speak. "Well, as you know, King Richard went on a crusade to the Holy Land soon after his coronation, leaving some of his land, Nottingham included, to his brother Prince John. As I heard that Prince John would be living in the castle I was excited for his arrival- I thought anyone related to Richard would be a good person. And, well, he just...wasn't. I guess he just didn't like me very much. Well, he really doesn't like anyone; all he cares about is money," she gives this new information with a nervous look on her face.

Not sure if I want to know the answer, I ask anyway. "What did he do to you?"

"Well, you see, Uncle John has quite the temper, and sometimes he was rather physical..." she looks embarrassed as her voice trails off.

The meaning of her words hits me, and I see red. How could someone ever lay a violent hand on this slip of a girl? My blood boils. In my anger I haven't noticed that she's stopped talking and is peeking at me in fear. My temper cools somewhat as I register the look on her face.

"P-please don't be mad," she stutters. "It really wasn't that much. I mean, I ran away before anything really brutal happened," she whispers.

As I listen to her plead with me, realization dawns upon me. She is frightened by my display of anger. It occurs to me that she most likely has learned to fear violence as a result of anger. Noting this, I mentally vow to help reteach her, showing her how emotions should be expressed without fear. For the time being, I give her a small smile of reassurance.

Struggling to reign in my anger, I address her. "Well, I'm certainly glad you ran away. It was very brave of you to leave your home behind and come to the forest alone. Yes, very brave, but bordering on stupid," I scold. "There are many bad people who frequent this forest, the band of rogues who just attacked us being some of them. I'm just glad I found you first," I tell her.

"Which reminds me," I continue, "I suppose I should apologize for the way we met. As bad as it sounds, I was entertained at your expense. Had I known you were a girl, or royalty for that matter, and the nature of your situation, I would not have threatened you so. Although it is embarrassing to mention now, it goes without saying that you are not my servant. I don't even know why I proposed that in the first place. Perhaps part of me thought it would keep someone as defenseless as yourself safe, if you were to travel with me in the forest. Anyhow, I..." I pause because I know I'm rambling.

She smiles softly at me. "It's really alright. Perhaps for a moment I did fear for my safety when you pressed your arrow into my back," she pauses with a laugh as I blush, ashamed, then continues, "but I can't forget how you have just saved my life. For this I am eternally grateful, and, don't worry, all the rest is forgotten. I know you're a good man, Beck."

My concerns are assuaged at her speech, yet I feel a pang of guilt, as I have lied about who I am and she still doesn't know. I fear that once she discovers my true identity, she will rethink her opinion of my character. Though I have put it off thus far, I know it is time to reveal to her who I really am.

"Listen, Marian," I begin, "about that. Just as you lied to protect your identity, I did the same. Since you have been so truthful with me, I feel I should pay you the same courtesy."

She looks concerned as I speak but waits for me to continue.

"Well," I say, "you've probably heard of me, and, being the king's ward, I fear I have not been shed in the best light. Nevertheless, I will tell you. I am most commonly referred to as...Robin Hood."

She starts as I tell her of my identity, and blanches somewhat. Giving her a moment to digest this information, I slowly prod the fire again. Looking back at her face a few moments later, I see she has regained some of her color and only looks slightly concerned.

I have to know what she's thinking. "So...what do you think?"

She pauses for a second, staring at the flames. "Well, it is true that your reputation of robbing the nobility and being somewhat of a scoundrel is notorious. As a part of the king's ward, you are correct that what I have been told about you has not exactly been positive."

She looks at me and continues. "However, I believe in judging people on their actions, and not vapid gossip. And the way you have treated me has been nothing like what I've heard about you from my uncle. You have been considerate, and have even saved my life. In fact, you have treated me better than my John ever has thus far, so I have no reason to fear you simply because you have revealed to me your true identity."

She stops, thinking, and smiles at me. "Although plenty of the nobility condemn you, I have heard what the people of Nottingham have said about you. You're their hero, always watching out for them. And I've also heard you're the best archer in all of England. It seems I am lucky to have even seen you in person. They say you're elusive like a shadow, always there but unable to be seen, like a flash in the corner of their eyes. By the time they turn around, nothing is out of place, just like you were never there at all."

She pauses and continues. "Oh, to think of what my maid would say if I told her I'd seen you. You and your unruly brown hair and piercing green fox eyes. She'd probably scold me but secretly want to swoon," she says with a laugh.

As expected, my reputation has preceded me, though I am lucky her head isn't only full of the vile notions of Prince John. Of course he and the other nobility despise me. I take their treasures under their very noses and give them to the poor people of Nottingham. After all, if John wasn't overtaxing us all to gain the capital required to revolt against his own brother Richard, I wouldn't have to steal from him. I have heard he is a greedy man, but now I know he is an abusive one as well. If reputation is what we all judge each other on these days, well then he is the lowest of men.

For a spell Marian and I look at each other, each seeing the other in a new light as our true identities have been revealed. Catching myself staring, I speak to her.

"Well, Marian," I start, "I now realize the nature of your situation- how you cannot return home and how you are quite defenseless. To make matters worse, you have been injured. It goes without saying that I will take on the responsibility of your safety; it is the noble thing to do."

What I say is true. It really is the noble thing to do, but there is another reason I want to protect her. In my head I acknowledge that she is utterly beguiling; she is beautiful and brave, and I can see her inner passionate nature. Plus she in kind and considerate, and does not hold the same backwards views as most of the nobility. It is only natural that I should want to spend more time with her.

"I would refuse your offer because of it's burdensome nature, yet I know that your words are true. I am certainly very defenseless in this forest, and I do not have a place to go," she says. "Perhaps it was stupid of me to leave with so little preparations in place, but...simply put, I feared for my life in the hands of Prince John. He was so violent that I was afraid he would get...carried away one day."

At the reminder of the abuses committed against her, I am seething again, yet now I know to hide my anger behind a calm facade.

I breathe deeply and continue. "It makes complete sense, Marian, and I probably would have done the same. So...I suppose that you will travel with me for the time being, perhaps until we can find you a suitable place to live, somewhere hidden of course."

She nods gratefully. "Yes, I agree that that would be the best option. Thank you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I reply.

We both stare at the flames for a moment.

"Well, we should try to get some sleep. You'll need as much rest as possible for your wound to heal," I gesture towards her stomach.

"Tomorrow," I continue, "we'll be walking some more, though not as much as today. I'll be taking you to my camp, if you're okay with that."

She nods and I continue. "I must warn you, however, that I am not the only one who lives there. I'm sure you have heard of the men who accompany me. Some call them the 'Merry Men'."

She looks concerned and maybe a bit fearful. "How many men are there?"

"Well," I start, "there's my right-hand man, Little John. Then there's Tuck, Will, and Alan."

"Are there any women in your camp?" she asks.

"No," I say sheepishly, her eyes widening at my response.

"However, I tell her, "You needn't worry about your safety or your...virtue." I look away quickly. "My men are all very good people, with excellent senses of character. I mean, they're not saints, but I can assure you that none of them would dream of harming a lady such as yourself, and a royal one at that. I know it may not sound appealing, but it is our only option for the time being."

She nods slowly, still looking somewhat concerned, but at least not fearful anymore. "I will go," she says. "I trust your word, Robin. You've done nothing to break that trust so far."

I give her a reassuring smile and turn to prod the fire again.

"Robin," I hear her say softly.

I turn around and look at her. "Thank you, again," she whispers, "for saving my life and everything. And treating my wound, of course."

"You're welcome," I respond, "And I would do it again."

She smiles and pillows her head on her hands, closing her eyes. I grab my cloak and drape it over her, then stretch out next to her, resting my hands behind my head. Although I try to keep my ears open for any unusual sounds, I can't help myself; after this long day, I drift easily into sleep.


End file.
